


Revel in Rivals' Claims

by Mytay



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Team as Family, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytay/pseuds/Mytay
Summary: There are times when Nicky and Joe thoroughly enjoy it if the other is the subject of appreciative gazes — after all, it's only natural that such beauty would attract stares. The only dispute is which of them is more deserving of these praises.Or, in other words, Nicky and Joe being ridiculously sappy when the other gets hit on or stared at, while Nile learns that jealously is not a thing for these two.(Takes place in a somewhat fluffy and idyllic post-canon universe.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nile Freeman & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Comments: 161
Kudos: 747





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to write this. But I did. *shrugs helplessly* It is fluffy and sweet because I want fluffy sweetness for these two husbands. As someone who does love my angst, I was actually pretty well fed with what the movie gave me (and all that it implied), so ...
> 
> Here we have the husbands of The Old Guard bonding with Nile while being the utterly in love fools that they are ... solely because it makes me so very happy. This is currently set at three chapters (because that's what I have written so far), but it may end being more (four or five?), as I do have a couple of other ideas floating around for this tale :)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I tried to do some research — there were so many tabs open, y'all — but please forgive me for anything hugely inaccurate, as my reading was mostly skimming.
> 
> Title inspired by the quoted poem below. It took some digging to find it, and apologies if the translation is off — found it in a scanned article: _Selected Ghazaliyat (Love Poems) Translated from the Classical Persian of Khaqani, Sa'di, and Rumi_ by David Martin.

_Lovers seek none other_

_than a risk-all lover._

_Good hearts only want_

_an all-or-nothing lover._

_While love reigns, reason is under ban_

_for folk won’t tolerate rival claims in love’s domain._

_— Khāqānī Shervānī_

******

The man flirting with Joe is decidedly handsome, Nicky observes, though that does nothing to disguise the ugliness beneath the surface.

Made all the more evident by how his hands keep _slipping_ into areas he has no business touching.

For the groper’s own sake, that better end soon; Joe might be unwilling to break their cover for this mission, but should Joe’s forbearance reach a breaking point, so too would this man’s fingers.

Nicky hides a smile when Joe arches a sardonic eyebrow at the oblivious mark — the rich, arrogant stealer of antiquities — who insists on personally showing him every (stolen) exhibit in this art auction, as if Joe can’t possibly appreciate the (thieved) art on his own. Never mind that Joe has several art degrees, spread across several centuries in several languages, and had been present at the creation of more than a dozen iconic pieces of art _._

Also, a few of Joe’s own wondrous works were scattered across museums, attributed either incorrectly to other famed artists (sometimes deliberately, as a favour to said artist, Joe would say with a wink), or listed as an “unknown” talent.

The point, Nicky considers, as he draws his own wandering thoughts back to the matter at hand (pun _certainly_ not intended), is that this idiot wasn’t worthy enough to even _gaze_ upon these works, let alone with that living, breathing masterpiece at his side.

Dominic Woodsworth (Nile had latched onto the name with several terrible jokes, and Nicky was not at all surprised to see how accurate her insults turned out) had been enamoured with Joe on sight. Nearly an hour into the evening, as Andy breaks into the cellar to steal back the most high-value art that Woodworth has pilfered, Joe plays his role as an aloof yet interested partner, allowing all the incursions into his space to pass with a stoic elegance and the occasional graceful avoidance.

Nicky’s smile becomes harder to hide when Joe sees Nicky in his periphery, and then makes a very quick gesture at him, his beautiful ring-clad hands poised below his waist — _asshole,_ they sign.

“You’re not gonna kill that guy, are you?” Nile asks, partially teasing … and partially not.

He glances back at her, tucking her beneath his arm; she is his “date” for the evening, and truly the most stunning woman there, in her deep green satin dress, her ears, neck, and wrists dripping in tasteful gold jewellery, while her feet occasionally peek out from the bottom of her gown in golden flats (all the better for running, should they need to make a quick escape). She smiles back at him — she’s so _young,_ but she had come to them with her own earned wisdom, which had saved them from torturous captivity.

He will be forever grateful, and “forever” is not a term he uses lightly.

Right now, she’s worried for him and Joe, and it’s sweet, but unnecessary.

“It’s not up to me to kill him,” Nicky tells her. “His death is not our mission, for one. And for another, Joe can take care of any unwanted advances perfectly well. My main concern is that, however justified it may be, Joe might lose his patience sooner than would be … advisable.”

Ideally, he’d wait until Andy _wasn’t_ trapped in the basement. And until Nicky could perhaps bear witness to Woodsworth’s so very much earned comeuppance.

“I mean, that guy could stand to learn what the hell _personal space_ means,” Nile grumbles, scowling when Woodsworth’s hand slides far too low from its original pose on Joe’s waist. “I could totally trip him into that spiky mace over there.”

Nicky is growing to love this young woman very much, and he hugs her close for a few seconds before releasing her. “I think Andy almost has our prizes. We should go help her abscond with them, yes?”

“Joe is masterfully keeping the douchebag distracted,” Nile agrees, her lips pursed in disgust at something behind Nicky.

He doesn’t need to see it; he is _not_ happy that someone is taking advantage of Yusuf, but he knows that the mission currently demands their subtlety, and that Joe would find a way to signal him if there were anything he needed help with stopping.

Not thirty minutes later, they’re walking out of the gala (after several pieces of retrieved stolen art are secreted away by Copley in his van), and Nile is positively _glowing_ at a successful heist with no blood shed. She does turn her gaze apologetically to Joe, who is arm-in-arm with Nicky. (Yusuf looked _delicious_ in his rich navy suit, with a tight-fitting dark grey vest and glinting silver cuff links. It had been difficult to watch him leave in that outfit, Nicky recalls, and _not_ reach out and _touch.)_

“No big deal,” Joe says before Nile can give voice to her concerns. “Guy wasn’t any worse than Dame Romilda. Nicky, remember her?”

_That_ does get a frown out of Nicky, but it’s chased away by a smile as he recollects her fate. “I do think we could’ve revealed her affair with the duke in far less … explosive ways. But then again, I believe you were two steps away from poisoning her evening wine.”

“Two steps?” Joe winks. “I had it ready that very night. I wasn’t the only serving lad getting her … attention.” He entwined their fingers. “Ah, just before I made my exit, I may have broken Dominic’s nose. We may never be invited to one of his secret fancy auctions ever again.”

“The tragedy,” Nicky says dryly.

“Oh, tell me that one was caught on camera,” Andy says with relish, her black cat suit hidden by a long red leather coat; Nile had passed on some of her golden jewellery, giving Andromache the appearance of a woman who’d been drinking champagne at an elegant soirée, as opposed to a burglar crawling through air ducts and skulking about a damp basement for hours.

“I’m sure you can ask Copley to let you see it before it gets wiped.” Joe grins at Nicky. “I took great pleasure in informing him that my _husband_ was waiting up for me, you see.”

Nicky kisses the grin off his face, managing to keep pace with Andy and Nile even as Joe tugs him in closer by the back of his neck. Andy nudges Nicky’s elbow when they reach an intersection. He pulls away from his love to smile at her, and she just shakes her head fondly. Her mortality had brought a new softness to her gaze and a sharper cut to her labrys. It had also brought Nicky and Joe back around to being more openly affectionate these last few months, a silly newlywed-honeymoon “vibe” (as Nile describes it) descending upon them, as it did every few decades or so — though, in this case, for more fraught reasons …

He forcibly withdraws from his maudlin thoughts, as Joe starts discussing with Nile the art that he’d seen, his face animated while he gesticulates with his hands — a habit he’d picked up from Nicky centuries ago.

“I think we need to find you a proper art school,” Joe is telling Nile. “We can spend a year in Paris, maybe. Or in Vienna. Oh, we have that beautiful apartment in Barcelona, don’t we, Nicky?”

“We do,” Nicky says, as Andy smiles at him, her eyes bright. “It would be a good place to lay low, yes? I think Copley said our next mission might be in Portugal …”

While they are walking to their hotel, Nicky spots a few passers-by who give Joe a double-take; a young couple who gawk when he stands beneath a street lamp, and a stately gentlemen who eyes him with parted lips as Joe pauses in front of a café’s pastry display. One woman actually stops in her tracks when Joe bends low to point at a slice of cake with delicate rose blooms on top.

Nicky just smiles because it’s nearly always a pleasure to see the world at large acknowledge how _beautiful_ his husband is — specifically, whenever it’s _not_ an asshole doing the appreciating in _unwelcome_ ways.

A few wide-eyed stares or passing leers don’t bother Nicky at all.

Especially when he gets to wrap his arm around Joe’s waist, squeezing his hip and smiling back at some of those gobsmacked expressions with a peaceful, knowing look.

And especially when these people will never know how gorgeous Yusuf is within, not just without — they will never comprehend that his true beauty is beyond comprehension, even after nearly a thousand years at his side.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other things that happened at this fancy party/auction thing:
> 
> — Both Nile and Nicky get hit on separately, but Nicky is mostly oblivious or indifferent, and Nile destroys the rude ones with a few quick and vicious words before tugging Nicky along.
> 
> — Nile’s backstory is just “art school prodigy,” but Nicky just keeps adding increasingly ridiculous aspects to it as they make small talk with the guests (“she also spent a year with Hassan Makaremi studying calligraphy”/ “she is a mountain climbing expert, is set to climb the Himalayas next year”/ “oh, she once made a perfect recreation of a Rodin, don’t you know?”) until Nile threatens to strangle him with her purse strap.
> 
> — Andy may or may not have appropriated several other pieces of art that she recognized as belonging to certain countries, and has Copley ship them to the museums of their native origins.
> 
> To anyone who made it this far down, I thank you very much! I'm very nervous to write for another fandom. Feels like it's been an age since I have. Again, I apologize for any inaccuracies, and much gratitude if you read and enjoyed :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Have some more fluff, if you're interested! :)
> 
> Once again, disclaimer for research that is hopefully more or less accurate, though there are a couple of liberties taken (as I apologize for in the end notes). Hopefully nothing is offensively wrong! 
> 
> Now, back to the Immortal Husbands being so very ridiculous together ;)

*****

Sometimes, when they are at peace, far from a battlefield with no known threat nearby, Nicky gets dangerously lost in thought.

He does this only when Joe is near enough to watch his back, and Joe loves him for it; loves that Nicky knows he can slip into a philosophical mood, and no one will catch him off guard because _Joe_ is there. Much like how Nicky protects Joe when he must pause to sketch or contemplate some piece of local artistry.

At the moment, Nicky’s pensive expression indicates that he is completely absorbed in the conversation he’s having with a librarian here in the Biblioteca Pública Arús. Joe would normally pass the afternoon happily revisiting the sculptures and other artworks in the building, but he’s currently (and also happily) helping Nile fill out her forms for the access pass that will allow her to peruse the vast collection, for the sake of her studies.

He is also observing a collection of university students, ranging from perhaps their twenties to early thirties, staring at Nicky with no small amount of awe and desire.

Today, Joe had insisted Nicky wear the clothes that Nile had picked out for him. She’d become a whirlwind in the past month, since they’d arrived in Barcelona, determined to update Nicky’s wardrobe, scolding Joe as they shopped because, “ _How in the hell can you let him dress like this all the time? I thought it was just a mission thing.”_

Joe had shrugged and laughed because Nicky is his own person, and he can dress how he likes. Joe loves him in anything (though sometimes he thinks Nicky picks horrendous items on purpose, just to see Joe break out in unrestrained mirth or to cheerfully spark some mockery — the 1970s and 80s were particularly and delightfully _awful_ for Nicky’s apparel).

He, Andy, and Nicky are indulging Nile quite a bit. She’s been alternating between frenetic energy and dark, depressive episodes. She misses her family. She longs to share her new experiences with those she grew up loving most. She is filled with new purpose, but the wound of her first death (and its repercussions) haunts her still.

They know she will be grieving, they know she must feel that sadness in full to process it, but they also want to see her smile whenever it’s possible.

And so, shopping sprees. Art school. Language lessons and tourist traps. Missions that don’t require killing (for as long as Copley can find them, and for as long as no emergency situation emerges). Andy was currently out with Copley, determined to find something mild and simple for them to attempt. Perhaps another art heist or white collar crime to solve?

A high-pitched giggle echoes in the cavernous room, and Joe has to cover his mouth with one hand, stroking through his beard when Nile looks up from her papers, sighs, and then puts her head back down to concentrate.

Nicky is wearing a closely tailored patterned shirt, the geometric shapes depicted in shades of blue, grey, and green, making his eyes stand out as stunning jewels. Nile had insisted that he leave the top three buttons undone. (Early that morning, Nicky had fussed with the short sleeves as Nile rolled them up a little to expose his biceps, her quick fingers smacking his hands away as she worked.) He has slim-fitting jeans on, the earth brown belt emphasizing his hips, and his feet are clad in sharp boots that click as he walks. His now longer hair is artfully side-parted so that strands fall and catch on his eyelashes. There are two earrings in his left ear, one a silvery blue hoop, the other a dark green stud bordered in black.

Joe hadn’t held back on the whistling or leering when Nile presented her finished product, and Andy had given a nod of approval, even if she had never given one shit about fashion except to appreciate the artistry now and again.

Nicky had pursed his lips, looking at himself in the mirror somewhat bemusedly, while Nile had shot a grin at Joe, who gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Now, the students were staring at Nicky in all his ethereal beauty, and Joe was basking in the attention that Nicolò _plainly did not notice._

The librarian, a woman named Maritza, is showing Nicky a thick, leather-bound volume, her gloved hands handling the book with infinite care. Nicky is speaking rapidly, alternating between Catalan and Spanish, the latter bearing a distinct Andalusian cadence from all their years spent in Seville, on and off, over the centuries.

“Oof, I think Nicky is about to be featured on Instagram,” Nile says, watching one girl hold up her phone in _not_ the most subtle way. “We should probably tell Copley.”

“Eh, we’ll see how the pictures turn out first,” Joe says easily, watching as Nicky scratches at the scruff on his cheek. (Nile had stolen his razor, yelling that the shadow of his beard _completes the look, stop, you’re going to ruin my work!_ )

“You know, here’s a thing I’m confused about,” Nile says, as the university horde gets closer and closer to Nicky. “The only scars I have are from before my first … passing. I can’t get new piercings or anything now.” She puts a hand to her dangling earrings. “And it’s the same for you all, right?”

Joe nods, smothering another laugh, as Nicky runs a hand through his hair to push the wayward strands away, and one of the male students actually chokes out loud, nearly swooning.

Nile’s face scrunches up adorably before she continues on, “So … how does an eleventh century former priest have his _ears pierced?”_

“He was from a noble household, and he had them pierced before he’d decided to enter the priesthood. Men wore piercings just as women did, more often in some countries. Especially in the later centuries, hm, perhaps starting in the fifteenth? Nicky may have been ahead of the curve,” Joe says, smirking as he recalls a few of the more … ostentatious outfits Nicky had worn in those eras, for the purpose of passing as a noble in various courts. “He doesn’t wear earrings often. Once you’ve had them torn out, accidentally or deliberately, on mission, you generally don’t favour them.”

Nile winces. “Yeah, fair.” She observes as the students finally reach the table that is next to Nicky and Maritza, and she gives Joe a sideways look. “How long until Nicky notices that he’s being checked out by an entire posse?”

“He may not ever notice if our librarian friend keeps plying him with rare books,” Joe says with a knowing smile.

With a fond eye roll, Nile goes back to filling out her forms, using the false passport and IDs Copley had provided them with; Joe resumes his adoring observations of his love (with intermittent pauses to scan the room for threats and to answer Nile's questions regarding her application).

When Maritza finally stands up to presumably either retrieve yet another book or return to work, Nicky is left to read in peace for a few minutes … Until one of the older students sucks in a deep breath and approaches the table.

Joe nudges Nile, who glances up again, and this time, she starts watching with interest.

The woman sits down across from Nicky, and he lifts his gaze, smiling at her in greeting. She noticeably reels back — Joe is swallowing his gleeful laughter with great effort.

“Hello,” she says in Catalan. “I, ah, thought it was very interesting, that conversation you were having with the librarian. I am also studying the Iberian epic poets, particularly those during the 12th and 13th centuries.”

Nicky’s eyes light up again. “I’ve been looking at many of those poems, searching for a few in particular. I know nearly everyone must study the _Cantar de Mio Cid,_ but beyond that—”

Joe and Nile both watch Nicky start gesturing as he explains his interest in the epic and romantic poetry spanning several centuries, and predominantly those written between the eighth and fifteenth century in what was known as al-Andalus.

As his Nicolò speaks, Joe is now also distracted, so it’s a good thing no notable threat presents itself while he loses himself in memories …

Nicolò had rarely read outside of religious texts in his youth, and his linguistic skills had taken decades to develop, since he’d only spoken Ligurian, and read Latin and Greek purely for greater access to those sacred works. (Whenever Joe teased him for how much longer it took him to grasp a new language, Nicky argued that Joe had a natural talent for tongues Nicky simply did not possess himself … _That_ argument usually devolved into sly innuendo, and then not-so-sly innuendo, and then a more … physical resolution to the squabble.)

Nicolò had fallen in love with poetry throughout all the years that Yusuf had plied him endlessly with ghazals from his people; thus, Nicky learned various Arabic dialects via those words of love, as he’d demanded translation after translation …

Joe sighs softly to himself as he gently returns to the present, watching his husband speaking with students in doctorate studies, kindly correcting them when a few erroneous assertions are made (more and more students were bravely approaching, joining in on the spontaneous dialogue).

He grins as Nicky unknowingly holds court and inspires greater admiration. Every time he gestures passionately, his broad shoulders strain against the tight shirt, and the button beneath his collarbone threatens to burst — more than a few eyes were clearly drawn to both, and were also undoubtedly anticipating the latter.

“Okay, I am done,” Nile declares. “In more ways than one. Close your mouth, Joe, you’re about to drool.”

Joe does as he’s told, and stands up with Nile to complete her application process. He helps act as translator, since Nile’s Spanish is currently quite basic, and her Catalan non-existent; he has one eye on Nicky while they speak with the administrator. Once that’s done, Nile proceeds to head towards the exit … though she waits patiently, arms crossed, smiling and raising her eyebrows when Joe hesitates.

He shrugs at her helplessly, and heads towards Nicky’s table.

He loves hearing Nicky share his knowledge with such passion, and it makes him smile even more broadly when Nicky slips into Andalusian Arabic now and again to quote certain poets (to the students’ delight, inducing the odd whimper).

Joe tries not to interrupt — Nicky is so obviously enjoying his spirited discussion — as he mostly just wants to be near enough to listen in. However, they are far too attuned to one another’s presence; Nicky flicks his gaze over the heads of the students and spots him within a minute. He doesn’t stop speaking, but he does tilt his head in welcome and question.

With a single wave, Joe wordlessly tells him to continue, but Nicky is already winding down the debate, and a few of the young ones have caught the direction of his stare.

“Ah, did our friend finish her application?” Nicky asks in Joe’s first language, the old mix of Egyptian and Tunisian Arabic (that has a beautiful Genoese lilt to it, even after all these years). He is standing up amidst the crowd and adjusting the watch on his wrist, tucking long strands of hair behind his earring-clad ear.

“She did, and we were going out for coffee now, but you are certainly not obliged to join us,” Joe replied in the same language. “If you would like to stay—”

“As delightful as this conversation has been,” Nicky switches back to Catalan, directing it both at the students and Joe, “I think I would like to have an afternoon coffee with my husband.”

No one gasps out loud, but Joe does see the stares grow more intent, paired with the odd flinch or muffled sound. Nicky bids the students farewell, and he carefully replaces the volume Maritza had shown him on her desk with a quickly scribbled note on top. He reaches out for Joe’s hand, waving goodbye to the youths with his other one. Joe has to restrain a smug expression when the envy is _palpable_ behind them, as they walk to meet Nile.

“I think,” Nile says once they are reunited and leaving the library, “that my fashion choices were successful, but also, they are only to be deployed when we _don’t_ want to lay low.”

“Why?” Nicky asks, glancing down at himself. “Perhaps they are not the most discreet items of clothing, the shirt especially, but they’re fairly comfortable.”

“Wow.” Nile loops her arm through Nicky’s free one, arching an eyebrow up at him, and then leaning around to stare at Joe. “He really didn’t get it, did he?”

“He probably did, just didn’t care,” Joe says, squeezing Nicky’s hand. “Right, my love?”

“Do you mean the way those young ones were staring?” Nicky asks, his mouth twitching upwards, though he maintains a rather serene expression. “I didn’t notice until just before you approached, I admit.”

“Oh, I should’ve put some money on this,” Joe says, laughing at Nile’s incredulous look.

“It was a fascinating discussion!” Nicky protests. “I was concentrating on _that,_ not on any particular student’s fleeting infatuation.”

“All of them. It was _all of them._ ” Nile sighs, leaning her head against Nicky’s shoulder. “Well, at least we know that I am way better at picking out clothes for you than you are.”

“They are fools if they see Nicky’s beauty only when he is wrapped in fashionable items,” Joe declares, as Nile rolls her eyes again, slipping away from Nicky’s side as if to distance herself from Joe’s antics (though she maintains a light grasp on his beloved’s hand). “I saw it clearly, when he was draped in blood-stained armour, having not bathed in weeks, his head more dirt and viscera than hair—”

“Thank you, my treasure,” Nicky says dryly. “Perhaps not your _best_ effort at poetic declarations of love.”

“There are no words worthy enough to capture your true glory, Nicolò,” Joe tells him, gazing at him without blinking, completely ignoring everything around them except for those eyes and that smile that is never quite so broad as Joe’s, but it doesn’t need to be — it professes the same amount of love. “Even my greatest offerings would fall leagues short, but attempts to cross the distance are a must, as the divine demands worship, and I am a humble cleric to your soul, that which is clearly a fragment of the heavens gifted to an unworthy world.”

“Holy. Shit.” Nile has now released her grip on Nicky and is standing off to the side on the avenue, covering her face in embarrassment with both hands.

Nicky smiles that perfect smile of his, the one that is small and bright and reaches his eyes. He kisses Joe without shame, for even though they run the risk of inciting vitriol against two men sharing such things in public, there are times (and _have been_ times across the centuries) where neither Joe nor Nicky are willing to conceal the depth and breadth of their mutual devotion.

He feels a buzz when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls away from Nicky, gradual enough to lessen the loss, and reaches for the thin slab of technology. (It regularly amazes him, the speed at which humanity has barrelled forward in this regard.) He thumbs open the screen to see … a text from Nile, containing a picture of him and Nicky in their passionate embrace, the bright afternoon lighting them perfectly, the small shops and cafés in full splendour behind them.

Nicky and Joe both glance over at Nile, who is sliding her phone back into her jacket pocket and putting both hands on her hips afterwards. “Okay, so now that you’ve finished, can we please get that coffee? You’re welcome for the new phone background, by the way.”

She is not holding back her smile well, and she laughs when Nicky immediately pulls out his own phone to set the picture as his background _and_ as his lockscreen. Joe tugs Nile over until she is in between them; Nicky takes her other arm easily enough, dropping a kiss onto her temple, which has her expression softening. Her head leans against Nicky’s shoulder again, while her hand tightens its grip on Joe’s fingers.

They exchange affectionate looks over Nile’s head, and all three of them resume walking until they find a café they like the smell and look of; Andy meets them there not twenty minutes later, bearing news of a mission that is both nearby and requiring no weapons (beyond what they would usually conceal on their persons).

As his family eats and drinks and converses, Joe sneaks glances at the passers-by who keep staring at Nicky in all his fashionable magnificence. He pities them, for they have no concept that the outer beauty of this man pales in comparison to his profound empathy, to his ironclad will, to his quiet wisdom and all the myriad facets, both dark and light, that comprise the priceless jewel of his soul.

In clear view of those same gawkers, he deliberately tangles his and Nicky’s legs, basking in the way that, while awash in a sea of admiring gazes, Nicolò only has eyes for him.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Biblioteca Pública Arús mostly deals with 19th and 20th century texts, I believe, but, ah, lo siento, I couldn’t resist having Nicky discussing far older poetry with these students, okay? Perdóname! ;)
> 
> Other things that happened that day:
> 
> — Joe doesn’t know it, but those students were dying when they realized that the Hot Guy with Those Curls, and the Hot Guy with Those Eyes (the names they were using to differentiate as they tried not to ogle shamelessly) were a married couple. There were a few curses at the unfairness of it all.
> 
> — While Joe and Nicky were having their Moment, there were one or two homophobes gearing up to say something … but Nile glares them into submission, and she may or may not have flashed the knives she keeps strapped to her person. They hustled away — fast.
> 
> — Also, the pictures of Nicky absolutely do end up on Instagram, and so does a somewhat off-centre photo of his and Joe’s romantic make-out session. Nile takes great pleasure in reading all the comments on these posts out loud before Copley arranges to have them deleted and scrubbed off the Internet entirely.
> 
> — Of course, then Nile ends up having to explain several different slang terms to Nicky and Joe, (“thirst,” “step on me,” “I can’t even,” etc.), and she regrets it in less than a day when Joe and Nicky (and even Andy) try to use them and fail in the most horrific ways, usually when they are out in public, thus making Nile yearn for a permanent death.
> 
> And, yes, this is absolutely escalating with every instalment. I am having zero regrets, except maybe I have *some* regrets because this is so wholly ridiculous and shameless. The next chapter is worse, and I think it will be the last one, as I’ve rather tapped out my fluff for the moment … But just for the moment ;)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, and if you’ve made it to the bottom here, thank you so much yet again! *hugs* :) I’m around on [Tumblr (@thisgirlhastales)](https://thisgirlhastales.tumblr.com/) sometimes if you want to hang out with me there!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, so much fluff. Last bit of this tale is absolutely ridiculous and shameless, and if you're cool with that, then hopefully you'll enjoy this :)

******

Nicky is sitting in the back of a classroom, unnoticed. He’d crept in fifteen minutes early, along with a few other ambitious students, and claimed a discreet corner seat.

He is mostly there to keep an eye on Nile, as she’d been visibly nervous that morning when they’d all broke their fast together in one of their London safehouses. (A terraced home based out of Newham that they rented out at low, affordable prices; it had recently become vacant again, allowing them to act as temporary renters.)

Copley had entered their youngest family member into this advanced art history course, in the University of London, based on her past credentials in Barcelona. Nile was convinced that she hadn’t retained enough from her eight-months of studying several art forms and history in Spain.

Joe insisted that she had been brilliant, and most definitely capable of undertaking a course that covered very similar subject matter — unbeknownst to Nile, Joe knew this because Copley had _also_ managed to get Joe some very convincing credentials as a professor of art history (which Joe was actually certified for, several times over, in several different countries).

As a distant campus clock chimes, the students bristle in anticipation when the door handle turns …

Nicky has to press his knuckles to his mouth to hide a grin when Joe walks into the classroom. He’s holding several bags of books and papers, and his laptop, his curls close-cropped yet still dishevelled, his beard a little shorter and looking so, _so_ soft, thanks to the beard oil that Nile had purchased him not long ago.

Nicky swallows and lets himself look …

Though, from his position in the back of the room, it’s very, _very_ clear that he’s not the only one.

At least a dozen students have shifted in their seats, some of them leaning forward at their desks, as if they can somehow get closer to the brightly smiling man at the head of the class.

The elevated tiers in the room make it that much easier for Nicolò to see another ten or _more_ students perk up after Joe speaks, his English taking on a combined Southeast British/Punjabi accent — an accent that he’d last used in the early 20th century, during a few of their covert missions in British-occupied India. Joe had always been especially good at not only learning languages in all their intricacies, but also imitating the seemingly infinite variety of accents that existed within certain dialects.

“Hello, welcome, and please, don’t get too comfortable — this is just an introductory day! I’ll let you all go free soon enough to get coffee or a nap before your next class. Let me know if you think you might need extra time to find your room. I’ll give you directions if you’re unsure.”

A soft sigh is heard, and a few titters follow it.

Nile, for her part, sits up ramrod straight, and Nicky can’t see her expression, but based on Joe’s broadening smile, it must be a sight to behold.

Nicky has his hood up, and his too-long hair pulled back into a short ponytail, but strands keep escaping to brush against his chin. He knows, as he tucks one such strand behind his ear, that Joe has caught that movement, has recognized him in an instant — his husband smiles _blindingly._

More sighs, and no one laughs this time, not any longer; in fact, there are murmurs that sound distinctly commiserating.

Nile puts her head down on her forearms.

Nicky coughs into his sleeve in a poor attempt to mask his laughter.

“I do hope you will all forgive me if I don’t quite remember your names,” Joe is telling them, leaning back against his desk, his hands shoved in his pants’ pockets, his shoulders and chest bulging _wonderfully_ in that form-fitting burgundy shirt. “You can call me Professor, or Ekam, I’m good with either. If you have a name that differs from what’s on my list, please do not be shy in letting me know. As someone whose name is all too often mispronounced, I am not at all put off by corrections of your own given or chosen names.”

Two rows in front of Nicky, to his left, a pair of girls are writing notes to each other on their laptop screens, and from what he can see, they mostly consist of exclamation points and capital letters, making it all too easy to discern the proclamations of _OH FUCK, WE’RE SO GONNA FAIL THIS COURSE_ and _DO YOU SEE THIS MAN’S ARMS?!_ There are also fairly poetic descriptions of Yusuf’s eyes and smile and curls, which Nicky nods in agreement with, for all that the words lack the power of Joe’s own poetical prose.

By the time Joe finishes the roll call, smiling at each student, asking for the correct pronunciations of their name, and hitting it exactly right every time, Nicky can feel more than half the room falling in love with him.

Nicky is _delighted_ by all this appreciation for his husband.

And by Nile’s truly theatrical reaction to it all — he could tell she’d rolled her eyes numerous times based on the tilt of her head.

In just thirty minutes, the introductory class is over, and Nicky is incapable of _not_ grinning like a fool; he waits for most of the students to leave before he heads down the steps to offer a hand to Nile, who is gathering her things at a snail’s pace.

“You seem like you’re in sore need of a coffee, my girl.”

Nile gives him a baleful glare. “An eight am class, _and_ I have to deal with _fawning over Joe_ for most of it? _You_ are buying me coffee this _entire_ semester.”

From behind them comes a laugh badly disguised as a clearing of the throat — Joe is speaking to a few inquiring (gaping) students, and he never turns to face Nile or Nicky once … But Nicky can tell that Joe’s attention is divided between the wide-eyed gazes before him, and Nile and Nicky’s conversation.

“I think that is, indeed, a fair trade,” Nicky says solemnly, and Nile is linking their arms, a smile playing around the edges of her scowl.

They leave the classroom, and Nicky could resist sending Joe one last look, but why would he?

He sneaks a quick glance, and sees Joe sending off the last of his already-adoring students; when their backs are turned, Joe instantly catches Nicky’s eyes and gives him an exaggerated wink.

Nicky _does_ resist attending every class, mostly because Nile deserves to enjoy her education with as few unnecessary distractions as possible; Joe was already there to help her. Instead, Nicky spends his days (and some evenings) volunteering at Grassroots, and acting as a translator for many of the immigrant families seeking services. Andy picks up a part-time job as security for a local pub, and during her off-days, she will either pop in on the campus to spend time with Nile or help Nicky out with his volunteer work.

On one particular evening, Nicky comes home to Andy sitting at their dining room table, shoulders shaking periodically with silent laughter — Nile is standing in the kitchen pointing a finger at Joe, as Joe cooks what smells like a delectable chorba and tries to defend himself from her accusations.

“You _so_ did not need to roll up your sleeves!” Nile is saying emphatically, while Andy snorts and tries to hide her reaction behind a battered copy _The Odyssey_ (the Fitzgerald translation, the only one she can stand, Nicky knows well, if she cannot find it in the original Greek).

“I was _sweating,_ Nile,” Joe insists. “There was no ulterior motive other than _above normal seasonal temperature._ ”

“Did _above normal temperature_ make you bend over to pick up that marker?”

“I dropped a marker, and I needed to pick it up? What are you accusing me of?”

“You _totally_ did it on purpose, so that I would have to deal with Veronica, Mateo, and Kavita nearly _diving_ over me to get a look!”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why half that row’s books fell,” Joe says innocently. Because he is entirely guilty.

“Joe,” Nicky scolds, walking over to put his hands on Nile’s shoulders. “Aren’t we supposed to be _helping_ Nile with her classes?”

“Andy may or may not have put some money on this,” Joe explains, throwing their boss under the bus without any hesitation.

“Andy,” Nile says, betrayal written all over her features. “ _Why are you torturing me?”_

“It’s a rather stupid reason, actually.” Andy is smiling, and Nicky aches to see it — he and Joe so rarely got to enjoy her happiness these last few decades (or centuries, even). Nile has brought new life to her. “I bet on Joe’s rating on that ridiculous Rate Your Professor site—”

“Copley is going to _hate_ this,” Nile says, somehow sounding both weary and incredulous.

“—with a few of the students who hit up the pub. _And_ as a bonus, you give probably some of the most entertaining rants I’ve heard in recent memory, which is saying quite a lot, you know.”

“Blah blah, immortal warriors, millennia of experience, whatever. You guys are _killing_ me here, and no, stop, Joe, do _not_ make that joke.”

“I think Andy is probably going to rake in the cash tonight,” Joe says, sadly resisting whatever horrible pun he’d wanted to unleash. Nicky can’t help but laugh at his dismay, and he goes willingly, happily, when Joe reels him in for a quick kiss before returning to his cooking. “And I promise, Nile, such a display will not happen again. That’s the one and only time I shall sacrifice my integrity for the sake of a bet.”

“A bigger lie has never been told,” Andromache says, raising her eyebrows.

“Yusuf, beloved,” Nicolò starts, about a dozen stories on the tip of his tongue.

“Right, so, we are _not_ going to tell Nile about any of _that._ ” Joe stirs his chorba, his back straight and his voice even, with layers of good humour beneath the stillness. Nicky wraps an arm around his waist, leaning his head against one broad shoulder to bask in the warmth of good food and his handsome husband. Joe presses back against him, a subtle smile nearly hidden as he says, “At least, no terrible stories until we’re all sitting down and eating this dinner. And might I remind you that I have _plenty_ of dirt on you both.”

“Not as much as you think,” Andy contradicts with her shark-like grin.

The meal passes with mirth shared between bites of a delicious stew. Andy insists on doing the dishes so Nile can go back to studying, and so Nicky and Joe can go “play footsie somewhere else, please, with the door _shut._ ”

“I feel a little guilty for Nile’s suffering,” Joe tells Nicky as he gets ready for bed later on, after he’s gathered all his notes and marked essays for the next day’s class.

“It’s all in jest, and she’s doing remarkably well in school, as we all expected,” Nicky says, proud of Nile for her perseverance and her good humour. “She would take you to task if it were _truly_ interfering in a real way.”

Nile has zero issues speaking her mind, and it is marvellous to see someone be so truly _open_ in ways … some of them never were, apparently.

“Hm, true enough.” Joe stretches his hands high above his head, his soft T-shirt riding up, exposing his muscles for Nicky’s perusal. He’s loved Yusuf in many variations — though their work demands that they maintain a certain level of fitness, Nicky thinks he likes his husband best when they are on an extended vacation, allowed to go soft around the middle, their muscles less defined, yet their smiles clearer.

“Are you going to the gym tomorrow morning?” Nicky asks, already beneath the covers, his head propped up on one hand.

“Are you implying I should not?” Joe slides in then, his smile turning into a knowing grin.

“Hm, but not for the reasons you’re thinking … Well, perhaps we may have time for _some_ of what you’re thinking,” Nicky amends, when he feels Joe’s fingers tracing feather-light lines across Nicky’s own slightly softened middle (he’d been neglecting any exercise outside of running for a few months now, given the less lethal nature of their recent missions).

“For what shall I be sacrificing _some_ of my delicious ideas?” Joe asks, his own head propped up in mirror to Nicky, his free hand now traversing beneath his shirt, lifting it as he caresses with intent.

“A lovely breakfast with Nile, as an apology for one,” Nicky speaks quickly, for there is a familiar glint in Joe’s eyes that will soon rob him of breath and coherence. “And for another, a swift end to any speculations on your person, as a second apology for our girl.”

“I think I know how you intend to solve that problem,” Joe says with a solemn nod, but that expression is transforming into a smirk, and those eyes … Nicky falls into them without hesitation, his own fingers now travelling up Joe’s arm, goosebumps forming beneath the tips. Joe curls in closer. “Would you care to indulge me in one of my splendid ideas _now_? It’ll grant us more time in the morning, after all.”

“Ah, for the sake of efficiency, I see,” Nicky says seriously. “What a romantic proposition.”

“Oh, my love, what is left for me but to propose to you, in all ways, as often as I can, for you deserve it all — from the mundane to the gloriously ostentatious,” Joe declares, laughing out the final few words when Nicky’s hand leaves his arm to tickle his side.

He gives a fond eye roll at Joe’s ridiculous flirtations. “At what point does your tongue stop conjuring such ludicrous declarations, treasure of mine?” Nicky asks, relenting when Joe’s nearly crying from laughter.

A breath later, Nicky has his husband pinned beneath him, their shirts lost at some indiscernible moment.

“When you give my tongue something better to do, naturally,” Joe responds, exactly as Nicky knew he would, having had this conversation, and so many others like it, over and over across the centuries.

He always delights in these words, and he smiles into their kiss for a little while, before he needs his lips and tongue to make good on Joe’s words. His hands find their favourite resting places — one on the soft planes of Joe’s ribs, the other buried in those curls. Joe’s own hands seek out Nicky’s hips and the broad expanse of his back, and there isn’t enough space between them to discard the rest of their clothes, but they are in no hurry …

… And even if they fail to do more than this, more than press against every inch, kiss until they are spent, they will still have the morning. (And the next morning, and the next …)

******

Nicky dresses at a leisurely pace, munching a few excellent pastries from a nearby Italian bakery, which Andy had found on her way home from her security gig.

Yusuf had left for his class roughly an hour and a half ago — dishevelled, cursing, and in a rush.

That rush had been Nicky’s fault, but if pressed, he would certainly say _Yusuf was to blame._

Nicky had done his best to make Yusuf late for class, as petty comeuppance for Yusuf seducing him in the shower; with a mischievous little grin, he’d left Nicky naked and wanting, just before _turning the tap onto the coldest possible temperature._

Nicky had retaliated by waiting until Yusuf was completely dressed before he’d shoved him back onto the bed, pinning him with heavy forearms on his thighs. Already on his knees, Nicky had _slowly_ pulled the zipper down on his husband’s trousers … with his teeth. Yusuf had stopped fighting him right about then, and he’d been a useless, writhing mess for the next several minutes as Nicky cheerfully took him apart.

Halfway through his lazy breakfast, Nicky realizes that his silly revenge might have a rather harmful effect on his plan to dissuade Joe’s students from their infatuations. He knows better than anyone that a dishevelled, recently-made-love-to Yusuf is far too alluring and beautiful for words.

_Ah, well,_ he shrugs to himself, humming happily as he gets ready to leave.

He passes a half-asleep Andy in the living room, dropping a kiss onto her head and shoving the plate of pastries closer to her.

Before he opens the door, he quickly checks himself in the mirrored coat closet, making sure no crumbs cling to his face or clothes. He’d chosen one of Nile’s recent fashion purchases as another way of showing his appreciation for her — this time one of her more subtle outfits: straight-legged grey trousers, a soft blue sweater with a wide V-neck, and one small silver hoop in each ear. He’d pulled his hair into a semi-neat half-tail, the rest of the long strands slipping over his ears and down his neck.

He takes public transit to the school — Nicky arrives ten minutes before Joe’s class lets out. He manages to stop for a coffee at the nearest campus café, purchasing one for himself and one for Joe. He walks to the classroom with a smile on his face, tipping his head back to enjoy the rare burst of English sunshine until he enters the building.

The hallways are relatively empty, as classes aren’t letting out yet, but a handful of students (or professors? Nicky swears people are looking younger and younger in recent centuries) give him wide-eyed, rapidly blinking stares. They were perhaps unsure as to who he was and why he was there, and so, Nicky smiles sweetly in response, dipping his head in a nod to appear as non-threatening as possible.

He reaches Joe’s classroom and pauses outside, listening to his voice as he wraps up his lecture. Nicky waits until there is a lull in Joe’s speech before he carefully opens the door with just a couple of fingers, considering his hands are full.

In his peripheral vision, he sees all the students swing their heads towards his entrance as one, but he is almost solely focused on his husband, and thus, it’s very much only a fleeting observation.

Joe is looking only slightly more put together than he had after Nicky’s loving devastation — his shirt still rumpled, his curls not quite so neatly tamed, and Nicky wishes the marks he left on that beautiful neck would linger, but he supposes the missing button on his shirt would have to do.

“Apologies for interrupting,” Nicky says, thickening his accent. He isn’t nearly as good as Joe at this, but he can work well with what he has; the Genoese lilt becomes obnoxiously Sicilian. “I know you didn’t get a chance for a cup of coffee this morning.”

“Ah, feeling a little guilty?” Joe says with a besotted (and amused) smile, as he takes the coffee from Nicky’s outstretched arm.

“Not at all,” Nicky counters archly. “No more than you were for your antics in the shower.”

Nile makes a sound like she’s choking, and she’s not the only one.

Nicky turns to fully observe the class, their mouths open, their stares intense; he’s not quite seeing the disappointment or resignation yet.

At least, not until Joe faces his students once more and says, “Apologies for my rudeness! Everyone, this is my fiancé, Pietro.”

Nicky waves with his free hand, a glint of silver matching the silver on Joe’s fingers.

The gasps are a little gratifying, as is the defeated slump in a few shoulders; with Joe’s status now officially confirmed as “taken,” likely many of these young souls would cease tormenting Nile with their relentless pursuit of Joe.

“When did you get engaged, professor?” asks one such youth, her expression a combination of mournful and curious.

“Oh, you don’t want to hear that story,” Joe says dismissively, glancing up at the clock. “We’re wrapping up in just a couple of—”

“Please, professor!” chimes another student, and quite suddenly the entire class is clamouring for Joe to tell this great romantic tale.

Nile is glaring daggers at them both.

Nicky gives her a subtle, helpless shrug, and Joe grins widely, clearly gearing up to invent something outrageously beautiful. Nicky could feel it coming, and would normally bask in such gorgeous theatrics …

But for the sake of their youngest family member, he laughs before Joe can get started, and says, “He had a huge, romantic outing planned, under the night sky, violins, a sonnet written in ode to me … And then I ruined it by proposing while we were trying to fix our leaking sink about a month before, yes?”

“Pietro!” Joe cries, sounding wounded, and it’s not entirely put upon. His dark eyes are flashing, and Nicky knows there will be vengeance … again. “You could at least let me _pretend_ I managed to give you the night of our dreams.”

“Dreams are flimsy bits of lace and fancy, and could not hope to compare to the heady reality that was you saying _yes_ , beloved,” Nicky says, and maybe he shouldn’t have let himself be carried away by that soft gaze and those thick, fluttering eyelashes.

Nile’s head meets her desk as nearly everyone present releases some kind of noise — squeals, sighs, moans — and there’s even a bit of applause from one corner. Nicky feels his cheeks flush a bit, for he actually _hadn’t_ meant to utter such nonsense, but then again, Joe is looking so very much in love with him, and how could he ever regret inspiring such a tender gaze?

Nicky gestures at the class. “I do apologize for interrupting your final few minutes with a bit of silliness. Do go on, Ekam.”

“Ah, not much else to say, you all know what readings to do,” Joe tells his students.

Nicky sees … that not much has changed in their expressions, and if anything, their attention seems split evenly between him and Joe, many lips parted, most eyes devouring … _Oh,_ he thinks to himself, feeling slightly ashamed. _This may have … not actually helped Nile at all._

“Please come visit more often,” says another student, his hand clutching the strap of his bag tightly, and he blushes when Nicky smiles at him. “The professor never tells us anything about his personal life …”

“Yeah, we want stories!” shouts another, her grin delightfully crooked, with a pronounced gap in her two front teeth. “The more embarrassing, the better!”

“Oh no, everyone say good-bye to Pietro!” Joe insists, stepping in front of Nicky and ushering his students out with a dramatic series of arm motions. “Go on, I know half of you have another class to get to!”

With good-natured grumbling and cursing, the students finally begin to leave, and Joe sips at his coffee, watching them … Until Nile is the only one left, her hands on her hips while she stares at them both.

“Sorry?” Nicky offers. “We thought, if they knew their beloved professor was taken—”

Nile covers her face with one hand. “Okay, I need both of you to understand that you are _very_ attractive to some people. And when the two of you are _together,_ it’s _worse._ For me. Who doesn’t want to hear it. Ever. Because somehow, it’s like you’re my … cousins or older brothers or _something,_ and I just do not want to hear a hundred different people waxing poetic about your physical attributes. Okay? Great, awesome.”

Joe blinks. “Yes, but also, I think now there will be less talk of me and more of Nicky. I mean …” Joe gestures at Nicky’s frame. “Really, love, could you look more scrumptious?”

“Me?” Nicky rolls his eyes. “I am not their favourite professor with ‘eyes that shine like the night’ and ‘pecs I want to smother myself in’ …” When both Joe and Nile raise their eyebrows, Nicky admits, “So I was reading the comments on that professor website …”

“Gah, you are each as bad as the other, holy crap,” Nile cries out, but Nicky picks up a faint smile twitching her lips, and when Joe begins apologizing, Nile cuts him off with a sharp laugh and a quick hug. She switches to Nicky and says, “Okay, it might be _slightly_ better now that they know he’s taken. But only slightly. Thanks for trying.”

She laughs at them both a little more before gathering her things and leaving for her next class.

Joe moves past Nicky to lock the door; Nicky leans back on Joe’s table and podium, sipping his own coffee slowly.

“We get points for the attempt,” Joe says, his shrug widening the gap in his shirt. Nicky doesn’t lament the lost button, particularly now, and he imagines the commentators on that website will be very grateful for it.

“Mm, well, if at first you don’t succeed …” Nicky waits until Joe is within arm’s reach to put a hand on his waist. Joe reaches past Nicky to put his coffee down, and then rests his hand on Nicky’s hip.

“What new strategy could we try?” Joe asks, his head tilting to one side.

“I don’t suppose debauching you on this desk will stop the wagging tongues,” Nicky contemplates out loud. “So we should rule that one out.”

“Ah, don’t be hasty!” Joe says, his eyes widening guilelessly. “We really should explore all avenues to help Nile be at peace.”

Nicky throws his head back and laughs at the earnestness in Joe’s face and voice. “My love, sometimes you are shameless enough to nearly embarrass me by association.”

“Nearly,” Joe says smugly. “Not actually.”

“No,” Nicky admits freely. “You are too beautiful for me to be embarrassed. Only proud and awed that you wish to be at my side.” He isn’t speaking of Joe’s outer appearance, and he can see (and know) that Joe understands this immediately.

“Nicolò, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” Joe says, both wistful and adoring. “Then you would know how truly, blindingly beautiful your existence is. Incandescent.”

Nicolò hums into a kiss, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Joe’s assertions; they will always see the other as the most precious rare jewel, and in that, they are equal. They never devalue themselves in their praise of their lover, for that would be insulting to them both. They made this choice to love one another, and they have kept making it for hundreds of years. They keep finding new facets in each other’s souls, more beauty to uncover, flaws that give that beauty a certain rarity not found anywhere else on this Earth …

“So … have we decided to completely destroy your desk?” Nicky asks when they separate for a few seconds.

“My next class is in an hour and a half.”

That is sufficient answer for Nicky.

Later on, when they are walking back to their flat, hands tangled together, waving good-bye to anyone who recognized Joe from class, ignoring the whispers and stares that follow them … Nicky takes notice of those who watch him, those who watch Joe, and those who seem fascinated by them _together._

The last one seemed the most common, and _that_ makes Nicky smile widely.

Joe pulls him in closer, murmuring in his ear in their own language — old Tunisian and Egyptian Arabic melded together with Genoese. “Enjoying the attention, my love?”

“Enjoying that they can see some of what we are,” Nicky says quietly in return, his lips brushing against Joe’s cheek. “For all that I appreciate eyes that see a fraction of your radiance, I find it far more gratifying when they can perceive what we are to each other.”

“Perceive it and enjoy it,” Joe muses. Across the street, an older (for a mortal) woman watches them with a faint smile, her hands clasped with another woman of roughly the same age, matching rings on their fingers. “Find some inspiration in it, even.”

“It sounds a tad arrogant when you phrase it like that,” Nicky says, though he means no insult.

“Those first fifty or so years that I loved you are infinitely precious. We would not be who we are without them.” Joe dips his head at the two women, who nod in silent acknowledgement. “And I think that makes our love not so different from theirs. Yet, we are different … If others can see the richness of the feelings that took root in those first fifty years …” Joe trails off. “I hope they can feel warmed by it, if nothing else. To know that such love is possible.”

“And in the meantime, the ogling,” Nicky says after a few minutes of silence, and a young man’s double take at Joe and Nicky — poor lad nearly walks into a light post.

“Hm, the ogling.” Joe’s laughter is kind, and he winks at the embarrassed youth, who just rushes away in response. “Maybe we should keep a tally. I’m convinced you receive far more than I.”

“Then you are blind, and I shall put money on this,” Nicky says imperiously, as if money matters at all to them. “It’s a guaranteed win, unlike the Great Baklava Taste Tests.”

“Oh, such confidence in me!” Joe laughs again when Nicky leans in to softly bite at his jawline. “I shall take that bet! Let’s get Andy to act as arbiter. Poor Nile has suffered enough.”

“It’s a way for her to adapt with exposure,” Nicky muses aloud. “After all, she will be with us for a long, long time.”

“This is true, but I’d like her to love us before she grows weary of us,” Joe says, and he presses a kiss against Nicky’s lips when they pause at a crosswalk. “Let’s pick up some of her favourite croissants on the way home.”

“One tally in your favour,” Nicky says, watching a thirty-something woman stare blatantly at Joe’s behind.

“Hey, you didn’t say we were starting!” Joe protests. “And you’ve got _two_ at your six o’clock. One of the gents might actually be drooling, Nicky.”

Nicky refuses to turn around and confirm this, and instead links his arm with Joe as they walk, paying less attention to the people around them, and far more to the man in his arms, to his husband, fiancé, lover, friend — all things they’ve been and are to each other, and the things they continue to be, no matter how many eyes or hands reach for them.

They are no rivals in their world, only lucky witnesses who catch fleeting glimpses at something timeless — and Nicky isn’t referring to their gift of immortality. For even if he and Joe had only that first lifetime together …

What they shared would always be death-defyingly, eye-catchingly beautiful.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s finished! Any ideas I had might end up in another story (no lie, I have almost 9000 words of just Joe as a Professor because I love the concept so much). Not sure if I’ll ever actually post it, but it exists :) 
> 
> In the meantime, here are some things that happen after Nicky and Joe’s shameless display:
> 
> — Nile does get a brief reprieve from her classmates drooling over Joe in her presence, but the class is extra eager to hear more about “Ekam and Pietro,” and Joe playing coy just has the students speculating constantly. Nile gets the husbands to make/buy her favourite foods every time someone says something about their sex life that she wishes she could unhear — she is very well fed for the rest of the semester.
> 
> — Joe and Nicky did not get caught having sex on the desk that time, but Nicky did surprise Joe just shortly after his office hours one day, and they nearly did get caught then, by a couple of students who were hoping for a quick question from their professor … And “nearly” means the students didn’t see anything, but they may or may not have heard something …
> 
> — The gossip this inspires means Nile gets taken to several very expensive restaurants as recompense, plus she gets to style Nicky for a week.
> 
> — Andy, Nicky, and Joe all surprise Nile on her last day of class, a rare art piece wrapped in brown paper and twine, and as she hugs them, she can feel the shocked, envious stares at her back … and she doesn’t care at all because they could never possibly know what this family means to her and to the world.
> 
> *hugs* If you made it to the end of this, I thank you profoundly! Feel free to say hi on my [Tumblr,](https://thisgirlhastales.tumblr.com/) should you wish :) *many more hugs*


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